


The Last Petal

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [326]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Dream Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Repaying Debt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22449175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The Organas call in Han's debt--it's time for him to pay up. But the terms of the settlement aren't at all what he expects.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker/Han Solo
Series: Mental Mimosa [326]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1012767
Comments: 11
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

The whole thing was a bad idea from the start. As ways of resolving one’s debt go, though, it was better than 99 out of 100 alternatives that the Hutts would’ve come up with, so in the end, Han zipped his lip and chose--with very good reason--not to complain.

It wasn’t like the Organas had a reputation for cruelty; they didn’t. They were seen--amongst those beings with an eye for such things--as unfailingly fair: decent interest rates, reasonable terms, and no real desire to hack anything off if and when you couldn’t pay up. (Maybe that was the royalty in them, huh? In Han’s sphere of knowledge, there weren’t a lot of king and queens who also doubled as loan sharks.) What they were known for, however, from Courascent to the roughest dirtballs on the Outer Rim was creativity coupled with patience: once you owed the Organas a debt, sure, they’d let you leave Alderaan with a smile and a friendly wave because they knew that one day, they’d find some unexpected and very profitable-to-them way of making you pay them back.

Luckily for Han--or at least for his indigestion--he only owed them for five years before he received a polite and very insistent call to come back.

Which was how he found himself sweating through his one good shirt in the king’s antechamber, desperately wanting a drink.

They were making him wait. He got that. Oldest trick in the book, right? Let the mook who owes you sweat it out. Five years wasn’t enough; better to keep him stewing for a few more hours, chewing his nails and dreading all the scenarios that his mind helpfully suggested might be about to unfold.

They could ask for his servitude. That wasn’t unheard of. They could ask him to go on some secret mission or something against some rival syndicate, Vader’s, maybe; there was serious bad blood there. They could tell him to turn over his ship, the one thing in life he really loved--which was exactly why they’d want it, probably--and send he and Chewie packing off this planet with one-way tickets to some godforsaken place like Naboo and if they did that, he’d beg for option B instead; better to be sliced in half by one of Vader’s goons than be forced to live the rest of his life on some cheerful green and blue ball like that. 

He stopped pacing and sat down hard; shit, he was dizzy. And hot. And seriously ready to blow a gasket. He needed a _drink_.

The door sighed open in the far wall and somebody was inside before he could even look up. 

Somebody who said in a rush: “Hi. Are you thirsty? My father’s been held up; he sends his apologies. Or if he hasn’t, he should have. In the meantime, I thought you might want some refreshment, Mr. Solo.”

“Nobody calls me that,” Han said automatically. “I’m just Han.”

He said this first and then lifted his head, which was a good thing, because if he’d looked first and then tried to make words, all that would’ve come out was a mush. Because the kid talking to him, holding a trembling silver tray, was, quite simply, the man of his dreams. Or, ok, a man he’d spent a lot more time than he should have dreaming about.

The last time he’d been on Alderaan, this kid, Prince Luke, had been 16. Dirty blond hair and shy blue eyes and gangly limbs everywhere; awkward, sure, in the way most beings were at that stage, but there’d been a grace in him, too, an liquid quality to his movements that only showed up in spurts: when he was dancing at some fancy ball, when he was in the courtyard with his fighting instructor, when he was passing Han and his father in the corridor, his gaze far away, his lips turned in a smile, lost in thought. 

They’d never exchanged a word, so far as Han could remember. He didn’t think they’d even been introduced. The king and queen were protective of their children, everybody said, and he’d only caught a glimpse of the girl, Leia, once. He had a vague recollection of dark hair and stormy eyes but he remembered every second he’d seen Luke, each image its own crystal-clear holo that for five years had served as fodder for many, varied imaginary assignations that came in the deepest part of the night: 

Those long arms wound around his neck, that pretty mouth hot against his cheek, those strong legs spread and tense, shaking with every shove of Han’s hips, the kid’s cock fat and happy between them, ready with just the right encouragement to give up another load.

And Luke’s voice in his ear--that was always the best part: breathy, it would be, beautifully tattered, as the kid wrapped his lips around Han’s name.

 _Han_. So needy, so gorgeous. The last petal clinging to a rose. _Han, please. Please_. _Do it, Han. Come inside me. Make me come_.

More than once, Han’d woken up with wet sheets and a red face and a grin to beat the goddamn band because damn, was it nice to wake up with the last fingers of the dream still drifting through his brain: the feeling of heat between them, one big surge and a shot; Luke’s face tucked against his throat, hot and damp and happy, so fucking happy. The kind of happiness that Han could feel in his bones.

And then he’d blink and be all the way awake and it would seem a lot less nice, lying alone in a pool of his own spunk, yuck; he’d grumble and the dream would be gone for good.

So to have Luke here, right in front of him, the actual person, was kind of a shock. 

“Ah, er”--his tongue sputtered like a busted capacitor--”thank you, your, um, Your Highness?”

The prince laughed and made his way to the low table at Han’s side, where he set the tray down. “Nobody calls me that,” he said. “Except Leia when she's pissed at me. I’m just Luke.”

“Thank you, Luke.”

He'd gotten even more beautiful. How was that fair? Or even possible? Maybe it was the robes he was wearing, a soft sand that somehow highlighted his eyes. Maybe it was the way the things were cut, a lot closer than they had been the last time Han had seen them, clinging to every inch of Luke's shoulders and chest. There were more muscles there now; the gangly was gone and in its place, a sense of well-shaped strength. Strength that was so close, Han thought, his head buzzing; close enough after five years, forever, to finally reach out and touch.

“Wine alright?” Luke asked. He reached for the bottle, hesitated. “Or would you prefer it cut with water? You look warm.”

Han swallowed. Straight water would be smarter, especially if Bail was on his way; perhaps that was the whole idea here, to get him even more lightheaded and out of the game so the king could swoop in for the kill. Whatever. Fuck it. His fate was already sealed. “Wine’s fine. Better than fine, if I remember right. Best stuff this side of the Core.”

Luke chuckled and poured. “Don’t let Mother here you say that. If there’s one thing she demands absolute fealty to, it’s her wine. You wouldn’t want to get on her bad side. Here.”

“Pretty sure I’m already there,” Han said. “Or haven’t you heard? I owe your parents plenty.”

“Yes.” The prince filled a second glass and lifted it to his lips. “I’m aware.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t judge me too harshly, huh? Happens to the best of us, in the line of work I’m in. You need cash quick to finish one job to pay off another, sometimes. Can’t be helped.” He took a long swallow, tried to buck up his bravado. “Not the first time I’ve gotten in a spot like this.”

Luke blinked down at him, his mouth now pleasantly flush. “So you’re not afraid? Of what they’ll ask for in repayment, I mean.”

“No,” Han lied, hiding behind another slug of wine. “Of course not. They’re not the Hutts.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning, I’m gonna be able to walk out of this room once your dad spells out terms with all of my limbs and major organ systems in tact. I may not be crazy about what I’m walking into, mind, but that’s a whole other thing entirely.”

“Hmm,” the prince said. “I can see that. Still, the uncertainty can’t be a comfortable thing.”

“Well, no, of course not. That’s what your dad’s making me sit here, isn’t it, why he’s keeping me in suspense. To make me more fucking edgy about the whole thing.”

Luke grinned. “Is it working?”

Han tugged at his crumpled shirt, stained now with sweat, and made a face. “What do you think?”

“You look like you slept in that.”

“Hilarious. I looked a picture a couple of hours ago, prince. You’d better believe it. There were some very appreciative glances that I was on the receiving end of between the _Falcon_ and...wherever I am. Here.”

The prince’s whole face lit up. “The _Falcon_ ’s your ship?” he asked.

“She is, yeah. Fastest one in the galaxy.” Han knocked back the rest of his glass; there wasn’t that much left in it. Whoops. “She’s something special. May not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts, you know what I mean?”

“Hmmm.” Luke took the glass from his hand and set it back on the tray. “I’d love to see her. I've always wanted to be a pilot.”

“If your dad doesn’t take her from me, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Why would he take her?”

“She’s the only thing of value that I’ve got in the universe,” Han said, feeling the weight of those words. “If it’s true repayment he wants--or as close to it as I can muster--what else of mine could he take?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to take anything from you.”

Han squinted up at the prince, which was a mistake because the prince wasn’t up anymore, he was down, folding himself neatly onto the ground, his legs crossed beneath him, his face now level with Han’s knees, and while Han’s brain was still processing that, Luke repeated:

“Maybe he doesn’t want to take anything from you. Maybe he wants to give you something.”

Han snorted; the better to cover up the sudden rush of blood to places it had no business going. Not now. He had to keep his head together--Bail would be there soon. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s not how debts work, kid. I owe him. Doesn’t mean I’m the one who gets presents.”

Luke leaned back on his hands. “But what if you did? Would you object to that being part of the settlement?”

“No,” Han said. “But it doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”

“It will in a second."

"Why?"

“Han, I’m here to tell you the terms of settling your debt.”

“What?”

“The terms are unconventional,” the prince said hurriedly, “but I think they’re more than fair. It doesn’t require you giving anything up, but it will require you to take something on, something that my father and mother will insist that you hang on to for the rest of your life.”

That sounded ominous. Were balls and chains still a thing? Or were they gonna brand his face or something, give him some really nasty scars that’d tell every being he met that hey, the Organas might get creative but that didn’t mean they were above using pain? Shit. Creative and pain, not two words Han wanted to see put together, ever. He fought to keep a straight face.

Growled: “You gonna tell me what this little present is, kid, or do I have to guess?”

Luke’s cheeks flushed. “No guessing necessary,” the prince said, his eyes finding Han’s, blue and suddenly very uncertain. “It’s me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Han opened his mouth but no words deigned to come out. So he did the sensible thing for once in his life and shut the damn thing again.

“When you were here before,” Luke said, “I wanted to meet you. I asked Father to introduce us, but he wouldn’t. He was trying to protect me, I guess, but at the time it felt like he was deliberately trying to hold me back.”

“How so?”

The prince sighed. “Father’s always had very particular plan for my life, and Leia’s. When we were children, we were to learn certain skills and meet certain people and not do, oh, a great many things. We’re my parents’ legacy, you see, one they fought hard for; we were adopted, you know. They couldn’t have children of their own, so they spent a great many years doing what was necessary to acquire us and once we were here, well--they’d had a long time to think about what they wanted from children, what our responsibilities would be, and so for most of our lives, Leia and me haven’t had much say in anything.” He gave Han a half-hearted smile. “But that’s the way of royalty on most planets, I guess.”

“Most planets don’t have royalty, Luke. They did teach you that, right?”

The kid’s mouth turned all the way up and sweet hells, Han thought, gripping the arms of the chair for good measure, he was gorgeous when he smiled. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“And protective parents, they’re a thing all over the galaxy, too. Or so I’ve heard. Ran into more than a few.”

Just like that, the sun was gone and Luke's face was all clouds. “My parents weren’t just protective, Han. They thought they had a right to dictate my life and dress it up in the word _destiny_ . And I went along with it because I didn’t know any better, I guess, and because who they spent the first 16 years of my life telling me I should be made sense: the prince, the king-to-come, and all that.” He shifted a little, the tips of his soft boots kissing Han’s, his eyes drifting down to the rug. “But then one day, it didn’t. One day, I realized I didn’t want any of it. I had my own plans; there was somebody else I wanted to be, that I _was_ already, somebody more than the first son of Alderaan.”

There was a buzzing in Han’s chest that he was wholly in favor of. “Yeah?” he said. “What changed? You get hit by lightning or something?”

“I saw you.” Luke swallowed hard. “I saw you and I saw your ship and I felt this… this _pull_ , you know? It was like a door opened when you were here before and I remembered how much I'd always wanted to fly. It’s the only other thing Father’s ever forbidden me--becoming a pilot, I mean. It’s fine for me to fly in someone else’s ship, but to have one of my own would not do.”

“Why not? Not like anybody would ever be dumb enough to shoot at you. Not once they knew who was behind the controls. They’d have to be suicidal to--”

“But that’s just it!” the prince cried. He pitched forward, his chin nearly colliding with Han’s knees. “I wouldn’t want them to know who I was. I wouldn’t want to fly for Alderaan. I want to fly for me.”

“Oh. Well. That’s a whole other thing, huh? No wonder you made your dad nervous.” He went for a smile, something soothing, and let his fingers find the heat of Luke’s cheek. “He probably thought that if he introduced us, I’d find myself plus one royal stowaway, hmm?”

Luke made a soft, startled sound and leaned into his hand, the twin oceans in his eyes suddenly very, very wide. “Maybe,” he said. “Would you have let me stay?”

“I don’t know,” Han said honestly. “Maybe. But you were just a kid then.”

“I’m not now.”

Han turned his thumb over pale stubble. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

The prince trembled, the pulse in his throat a bird’s wing. “I--I was supposed to get married next week.”

“Yeah?"

“Uh huh.” Luke’s palms curled over Han’s knees. “My parents had him all picked out. The first son of Coruscant.”

“A Kenobi, huh? Very fancy. That would’ve been something. You’d have made real pretty babies.”

“But I said no. I said that I wouldn’t. I said they could throw me out of they wanted to, but they couldn’t force me to marry anybody.”

The heat in Han’s body sewn from nerves and flop sweat was gone now, burned away by a warmth that spread with equal speed from his hips and his heart, and if part of him wanted to shut the kid up and knock him back into the rug and make him forget about some goddamn Kenobi, part of him wanted this, too: to have Luke balanced on a knife’s edge, hot and open--so open, good gods; the kid was practically speaking from the vein--and aching for Han to touch him. It felt good, holding back a little longer, keeping this beautiful creature dangling on the end of a string.

And Han was no fool, either: he knew if he got his mouth on Luke’s, somebody’d be getting some serious rug burn and that was fucking that.

“And they didn’t,” Han said. “Look at you, kid. Good for you.”

“Well, they turned it back on me, I guess. They told me I had to get married this year, before I turn 22. Leia has to, too. Some kind of royal law.” Luke turned his face and nuzzled Han’s wrist, his lips barely catching bare skin. “But they compromised. They said as long as I did it this year, I could marry whoever I wanted.”

“And lemme guess,” Han said with the last of the air that touch had left in his lungs, with the first breath of hope he'd felt in a lifetime. “You want to marry me.”

Luke’s hands drifted up Han’s thighs and he drew up on his knees and then their foreheads were touching, the tips of their noses, and it felt like a dream, suddenly, like every gorgeous dirty one that Han had ever had, except there was another note to it, too, a soothing one, like in this kid, this stubborn, lovely prince, Han had found everything he’d been running around the galaxy trying to find his whole life.

“I want to marry you,” Luke breathed, “and if you agree, Father will cancel your debt. All of it.”

Han bit gently at Luke’s bottom lip. “But I’m getting more out of this than a clean slate,” he murmured. “You do get that, right?”

The kid swallowed hard. “You are?”

“I’ve spent the last five years thinking about you. About this.” He eased their mouths together, just long enough to get a taste. “About kissing you. About making love to you. About hearing you call my name when I’m inside you, when you want it so bad you don’t know what to ask. Would you like that?”

“ _Han_.”

Han shoved a hand in Luke’s hair and kissed him again, harder this time, something big and beautiful and stupid boiling up in his chest. “Just like that,” he said. “God, Luke. Like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Son of a--! Hopefully, they'll be one more chapter here. I didn't know they'd want to talk so damn much...


End file.
